It didn’t seem to occur to him to move the dog. He just snapped and stretched toward me, his vocal cords vibrating as he moaned and grunted and generally threw an undead tantrum.
“Move, Evie. I don’t want to hit you.”
She jumped off him, and the ghoul sat up.
At this distance, even I could fire properly. I pegged the bastard in the head and watched him topple back into the ash.
Aim for the head. Always aim for the head.
“Hell yes,” I said to the dog. “I’m going to start telling people Vibeke is Norwegian for Badass.”
She froze in the middle of her tail wag, and her nose worked rapidly. Then the growling started again, and she stared darkly into the ash.
Oh, shit.
“Come on, girl!” I jogged back to the Culver Building. Evie followed me—albeit reluctantly—and stood with me at the entrance, still growling down the street. I counted three more figures slowly emerging from the ashen haze, and decided that the time for heroics had passed. “Tony!” I bellowed into the lobby. “Tony, Dax, we have guests!”
I had no idea if they heard me. A fourth figure materialized. Son of a bitch, had they all followed the Lakers fan? They must have walked all night and straight on into the morning—and holy fuck, if he’d picked up friends, who knew how many hangers-on they’d eventually acquired…
“Tony!” I closed one eye to aim at the nearest shambler, a woman in the bloodsplattered remains of a green housecoat. I squeezed the trigger and her shoulder jerked back. Well, that was better than my previous attempt. I waited for her to come a little closer and tried again.
Bam. Two down, four to go. How many bullets does this thing have?
“Oh, shit!” Tony elbowed me aside, swinging his rifle up into his hands. Pop! One went down. Pop! Another. He missed his mark on the next one—a businessman in an overcoat—swore, and tried again.
He hit the man’s elbow. Dark fluid sprayed out, and the zombie stumbled, but it didn’t stop coming.
Behind me, Dax sucked in his breath. “Is that…is that…”
“Behold,” I said. “The footsoldiers of the apocalypse, or some shit like that.”
Tony waited until the businessman came closer, and finally nailed him in the head.
The last ghoul came toward us. I figured he was a teenager—or had been, before all this—and Tony lowered the gun. “Dax, come get a look at this creep.”
“I can see him just fine.”
“Come here.” Tony’s tone booked no argument. Dax crept forward several feet, and he gulped audibly as the ghoul got closer. “See the white eyes? And he’s not limping, not really. That’s a shuffle there. Rigor mortis or some shit. I bet the blood’s all pooled in his feet.”
“I see.”
The dead teenager edged closer.
“Do you? Do you really fucking see, Boy Scout? Still think maybe he’s just sick, or me and Vibeke found some bad LSD and our whole encounter was just one really shitty trip?”
“I wish,” I muttered.
“I see him! But how do you know what he wants?”
Tony swung around to stare at Dax. “What do you think it wants?”
“In the movies, dead people were always out to get you,” Dax said. “They want your brains. Or your liver. Or they just want to munch on you as a snack, if they’re not trying to have sex with you.”
“That’s vampires,” I said. “You gonna let him get any closer?”
“Maybe they’re just dead, and wandering, and aren’t going to…” Dax trailed off, staring at the approaching zombie.
Tony gave him an appraising look. “You want to go out there and have a look around? Maybe shake one’s hand, ask it out for coffee?”
“Not really.”
Tony nodded. “Dax, just in case there’s any doubts in your bleeding little heart…I know you’re trying to make the best of things, and it’s quite possible these zombies just want to give you a hug. But until I see them handing out balloons and babysitting children and kissing puppies, I am going to assume they see us as walking cheeseburgers.” He lifted the rifle and shot down the dead teenager. “And you know how much I love cheeseburgers.”
I didn’t see how that factored into things at all, but then, Tony is a man of many mysteries.
He peered into the ash cloud, fingers tight around the rifle. “Thought maybe we were outside the blast zone, but…”
I pointed at the Lakers fan. “I remember him from the supermarket. He had the same sweatshirt...”
Tony scarcely looked at him. “There’s millions of Lakers fans in the world, Vibeke.”
“Not in the Midlands Cluster!” I kept pointing at the corpse. “That’s the guy from the supermarket! I think he followed us.”
“Vibeke…” He had that look on his face—the same look Clive gave me when I suggested interviewing a local heavy metal band to add some flavor to an otherwise boring issue. “I don’t think…”
“You don’t think they can’t track us? Dammit, didn’t you just yell at me about something similar last night? A day ago, people stayed dead when they died. Now they get up. Those two jerks waiting outside the supermarket for us—they sure as hell saw us and got to the front of the store by the time we got out—”
Tony held up his hands. “Alright! Alright! Maybe they can track us. You realize we’re in deeper shit if that’s the case?”
I smiled tightly. “I have a vivid imagination.”
Dax nudged the Lakers fan with his foot. “So…how are they doing it? Scent?”
“They move damned slowly, assuming they left the market right after we did.” Tony looked at the dead man consideringly. “I guess that’s reassuring.”
“But he picked up buddies,” I pointed out. “So were they in the vicinity and watch us go by…or did they just fall in with him as he went?”
Tony and Dax both glared at me. “Way to make things worse, Vibeke.”
“Just trying to cover all the bases.” Someone needed to ask the right questions. “Should we assume it’s spreading?”
Their reluctant silence told me that yes, we did.
Tony sighed. “We’re gonna need more ammo.”
SIX
In another time, I might have been relieved to find out that no, Tony McKnight didn’t keep enough ammunition stashed away to supply a small army. In a time when dead men roamed the streets, I was damned irritated.
“What do you mean, you only have two more boxes of shells?”
“Well, pardon me, Vibeke, I wasn’t planning on dealing with the undead when I came into work, otherwise I’d have stocked up.”
What a difference an apocalypse makes.
“Will either of our cars run?” I asked, watching him reload my pistol and his rifle. “Hammond said—”
“It’s not that far. We can walk if it breaks down.”
We piled into his rattling Ford Ranger and stuck Evie in the back; Dax and I both protested this, but Tony pointed out that she’d survived wandering around Ribbon Street. The truck didn’t immediately start; it coughed and sputtered, and Tony had to flood the engine a couple of times before we got underway.
The garage gate squeaked open, and our sad little convoy edged out into the streets.
I turned on the radio, but the only sound that came out was static, accompanied by a prerecorded message instructing us to head for Elderwood Community College. After the third repetition, I shut it off.
Tony kept our speed to about five miles per hour, and steered us carefully around the fallen lumps of the dead. He made a left turn on Blyckert Street, and the engine coughed softly.
“Shit,” he muttered, easing off the gas even more. “We can hoof it if we have to, but I didn’t realize it’d clog so fast.”
That didn’t bode well for our escape.
“You left the dog out in it,” Dax said. “Why hasn’t she...coughed?”
By coughed, I assumed he meant died, and he could have asked the same about any of us. Tony shrugged.
“Good question...actually, thanks for bringing her up.” He pulled the truck over to a patch of sidewalk underneath a flickering CHARLIE’S PETS sign. “Go grab some kibble.”
Dax turned to stare at him. “I’m not going in there alone.”
“It’s a damned pet store.”
“Then fucking come with me!”
Tony rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake.”
The boys left me sitting in the middle of the cab. I guess they figured I couldn’t just drive off; the engine had already started sputtering, so I wasn’t likely to get very far. I watched Tony shoot the lock off the front door and escort Dax in. Both of them stopped short, and Dax came right back out. He tapped on my window. “Sally, please.”
I opened the door wide enough to slip him his gas mask. He tugged it over his head and walked back over to Tony, who sent him a thoroughly ball-shriveling stare.
I turned around to check on the dog. She was peering after them, but her tail still wagged slightly. I assumed that meant they weren’t being jumped.
Why did Dax want his mask? I could see the two figures moving around in the store, but nothing beyond that. The sign posted in the window said they’d just received several parakeets, and a number of kittens were for sale.
Parakeets and kittens.
I counted down the days since Charlie had likely last set foot in his store, and my heart started clenching uncomfortably. Who’s going to feed the critters? Charlie didn’t take them home with him...
The boys came back out five minutes later with four gigantic bags of kibble. They tossed them into the truck bed, and Evie yelped excitedly, wagging her tail. They were quiet when they climbed inside the car, and Tony got us back out on the road.
“Was it bad?” I finally asked, unable to stand their silence.
Dax leaned his head against the window. “Cannibal Parakeets would’ve been a great album name.”
I shouldn’t have pressed deeper. I should have shut the hell up and left my mind to wander to happier climes. Instead, I asked, “What about the kittens?”
“Why do you think I wanted the gas mask?”
“First go the humans, then their dependents.” Tony pulled us into a wide right turn. I hadn’t come down to this area of South Harkin before, and the building we stopped near looked like all the others in our gray new world. Two other cars were already parked in front of it—two cars with the windows somewhat cleared of ash.
Dax shook his head. “I don’t like this.”
“Me either. Vibs, you stay here.”
“Sounds good.” Hey, I’m a chick in a post-apocalyptic world. No way in hell was I wandering into an occupied gun store.
Tony dragged Dax along with him. They approached the shop cautiously, and Tony read a white piece of paper posted on the door. Then he lifted his fist and banged against the door.
It opened, and the two disappeared inside.
It’s only been a week. Things can’t have degraded that quickly. They’ll be fine. I pushed the back window open and ruffled the dog’s fur. Evie smiled, slobbered all over my hand, and stuck her face through the open space. “I can’t believe we’re leaving you out there. We are such mean owners. Where did you come from?”
We were still swapping stories when Tony returned, pulled the passenger door open, and stared at me.
“What?” I asked.
I had never seen Tony look so uneasy before. “Malachi says money’s no good right now. He wants to trade.”
Anyone named Malachi after the end of the world immediately sent up giant red flags. “Yeah? He want the dog?”
“No...” Tony’s gaze slipped from my face down to my chest, and I abruptly realized what Malachi probably wanted to trade.
“Are you fucking kidding me? It’s only been a week since the apocalypse! We can’t already be using women as currency! Shouldn’t it be cigarettes first?”
Tony didn’t quite cringe away from me, but this was as much fear as I’d ever managed to instill in him. “Yeah, well, the dead getting up and walking around apparently sped the whole process along.” He leaned his elbow against the open door. “Look, I’ve got a plan. Just go in and do what he wants. Just for a little while. We’ll get the ammo and distract him—”
“And what if he doesn’t let you get the ammo until after he’s done with me?” My gut knotted up just thinking about it. “First off, if he’s bartering for sex, he’s probably not necessarily honorable. And what if he just decides to keep me? Does he have cronies?”
Tony blinked. “Cronies?”
“You know, minions. He must. Otherwise you’d have just decked him and been done with it.”
“He’s got four guys with him.”
And he said I lacked survival skills? “No. No. This won’t work. This is stupid. Tony, don’t you—”
“The dead walk, Vibeke.” His face was suddenly inches from mine, and I had to lean away from him. “We need ammunition, and Malachi has it, and I promise you, I will not let him touch you—too much—but right now suck it up and at least pretend to take one for the team. Or you can just go make friends with that nice lady over there, because we don’t have the ammunition to deal with too many of her kind.”
He pointed down the street. I couldn’t quite make out the woman’s features, but I’d come to recognize that staggering, ponderous gait. “Goddammit, Tony...can’t you make Dax do it?”
He sent me a crooked grin. “Tried that already.”
“Christ,” I muttered, climbing out of the cab. Survive Armageddon, get pimped out. My God, was I actually agreeing to this?
Evie whimpered softly as we left her. I tucked my hands into my pockets and let Tony hold the door open for me. The sign on the door read Klondike Guns and listed a William Williams as the proprietor. “Did William change his name?”
He shook his head. “Malachi isn’t William. No clue who he is, really...or what he did with Will...”
Malachi and his four cronies looked clean enough; the former had fine blond hair and icy eyes, and I could swear I’d seen his buddies in a Ventra fight in some previous life. Malachi smiled at me. After receiving a sharp jab in the ribs from Tony, I smiled back.
His appraisal made my skin crawl. “You’re very pretty,” he said. “Such lovely eyes. Is that your natural coloring?”
I guessed he meant the black hair against the pale skin. Mother used to call it dramatic coloring; I had called it boring and dyed it a myriad of colors. “Yes.”
“See that they get what they need,” he said to his minions. He extended a hand to me. “Would you care for a drink?”
A drink...yes, how about I get shitfaced right about now? “That would be lovely.”
I didn’t take his hand. He grabbed my wrist and gave it a firm tug, and I followed him into the back room. I glanced back over my shoulder at Tony, doing my best to convey all the shit he’d be in if he didn’t get me out of this quickly.
Malachi led me to some sort of break room, where a carafe of something red sat on a beat-up table. “I’m surprised you agreed to this,” he said, pulling two red plastic cups from the counter. “Your friend thought you would be most reluctant.”
“He’s not my friend.” Anyone willing to pimp me out at the end of the world most definitely went on my shit list. “But we need ammunition, and you have it.”
“And there’s all manner of evil lurking out on the streets, isn’t there?” He poured us each a glass of wine. At least, I assumed it was wine. For all I knew, it was watered-down blood; guys named Malachi probably drank it all the time. “These are the endtimes, I think. My mother was right. God has smited us, and the dead have returned to plague the living.”
Lord, save me from your followers. I pounded half my drink right there.
Malachi chuckled. “You’re not a believer?”
“I believe the dead are walking. I’m not sure who to credit for that.”
Malachi sipped his wine. “Men come out of the impact barriers boiling over with fever. Those
that die return as husks...those that live are more than what they were. The world we knew is ended…but we will build new communities and forge a new world.”
It’s only been a week. How is he so batshit already? Or did the end of the world just bring out the batshit in all of us? “I...wish you luck with that.”
“You needn’t look so worried, Vibeke. I’ve no intention of raping you. But wandering the wastelands with those two...what remains of this civilization will collapse swiftly. It always does. A woman will find no place out there on the roadways.”
I was still puzzling over his it always does statement to really think about the rest of what he’d said. Civilization always collapsed swiftly when? In disaster movies?
I drank the rest of my wine, much preferring to handle this sort of wackiness with a buzz.
Malachi smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll take excellent care of you.”
Part of Lucy’s thesis on the handling of stress had entailed the methods by which men and women coped with difficult situations. Of those that managed to handle catastrophe without completely shutting down, half turned to themselves and their companions for help and solace.
The other half turned to religion. Not nice, kindly-pastor-as-advisor religion, either.
Why do the fundamentalists always survive?
Shouts rang out from the other room, followed by gunfire. Malachi slammed his cup down on the table and strode toward the door, drawing a small handgun from his coat pocket. I trailed after him.
Two of Malachi’s men stood with Tony and Dax, pistols pointed at the undead man and his undead child—at least, I assumed it was his undead child; it might well be some other child he’d acquired in the process of becoming undead—snacking on the other two members of Malachi’s posse. The flesh made wet tearing sounds as it parted from muscle and bone, and when the child looked up, long strings of sinew trailed down from its mouth.
I gulped.
The child seemed more interested in Malachi than me…at least, I thought it was looking at Malachi; the haze in front of its eyes made it difficult to see just where it was looking. But its head tilted up as it chewed. Fresh blood dribbled down its chin.
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